


Hastened

by Inevitable



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, free form, more than friendship, where the lines blur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8282242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inevitable/pseuds/Inevitable
Summary: In which Joan gets a nasty scare.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short piece, inspired by one of my favourite fics called "Roads."

Joan is almost home that evening when she hears it, she is rounding the corner onto their block when the other sounds fade away somewhere into the distance and the footsteps behind her seem clearer somehow, sharper against the pavement.

She’s just gone to get some groceries from the corner shop nearby; it’s been a rare slow day and she thought she’d take a leisurely way home, enjoy the crisp air and the scenes of New York.

And so it’s nothing, Joan thinks, it’s nothing except her suspicious mind playing tricks on her; it’s only one too many lessons in self defence with Sherlock, only her cautious nature getting the better of her.

They aren’t even working a case right now, they’re in no danger is what she tells herself, even as a trickle of panic sets in, even as she tightens her hold of the brown paper bag in her arms and heaves it up, higher over her chest.

She could just turn around she thinks, she is almost home after all, can already see the roof of their Brownstone now, the little steps leading to the front door. 

She could whip around right this moment and face the mischief makers, reprimand them because it’s nothing, probably just two young boys having a laugh, who don’t know the implications of following a lone woman on an empty street, because not everyone is a criminal after all and — 

The footfalls speed up and Joan can distinctly hear two separate treads now, the heavy steps of two men behind her, and the bag drops somewhere with a thud and suddenly, she’s running. 

Suddenly, she's running for dear life without rhythm or pause, sprinting with her heartbeat in her ears and the wind hitting hard against her face. 

All at once, Joan is racing with her blood rushing through her veins now as she tears through the last stretch of road, as she hears the footsteps fall further behind and her vision narrows to the front door.

Then she's fumbling for the key in her pocket and somehow, she’s made it up the steps and inside, somehow she’s back home, closing the door with her weight slumped against the solid wood and he’s there immediately, Sherlock has heard the racket and her ragged breath and the slam of the door and he’s in front of her in a moment.

“Watson.” He is there, closing in on her and his voice is low and Joan hates it, doesn’t want him to see her like this, with her messy hair and tear stained cheeks and big, fearful eyes. “Watson, what is it? Hm? What’s happened?”

Joan covers her mouth with a trembling hand. His eyes are large, haunted as he takes in the image of her. “Are you hurt? Did someone try to hurt you?"

She shakes her head. “It’s stupid really, it was nothing. Sherlock, honestly.” Brushes it off then, tries to wave away some of his concern.

But his hands are reaching for her now, touching her softly, so softly, the backs of his fingers are tender, brushing against the skin of her cheek, her neck and Joan swallows hard.

Wraps her own hand around his wrist and smiles again, tearfully, meaningfully. “I just got spooked, that’s all, I thought someone was following me and I didn’t have my single stick so I ran——  As I said, it’s stupid. I feel really stupid."

And just like that, his hands are have left her, abruptly Sherlock has flung the door wide open and lets the cool air waft inside. He is standing on the patio now, surveying the street left to right, up and down and up again and Joan takes a deep breath, follows him out.

“Look at me,” she says. She tucks her hands around his arm, under his elbow and tries to steer him toward her. "Sherlock, look at me.”

Only after a pause, after a long moment does he turn, looks down at face her and his eyes are shining, Joan sees, they are shining with tears. “I promised you that I’d never let any harm ever come to you, Watson.”

“Hey, I know. You haven’t. I’m alright, see? I’m right here, and I’m alright.” Joan tightens her hold on his arm just slightly as if to reassure him, to reassure them both, as she smiles. “Come on, let’s go in.

One more searching look into the street and Sherlock nods, follows her back inside the house, and locks the door securely behind them. Turns to her then, one last time, his hand at her face again, examining her for any signs of hurt, of pain before he clears his throat. “You’re sure?"

Joan smiles, nods. “I’m sure."

And he nods then, in turn before retreating, before rushing away into library for the night, and Joan calls out to him. “Where are you going?"

“I’m going to design a new lock, Watson,” he shouts back. "One even I can’t pick."


End file.
